Recrudescence
by Toxic Hathor
Summary: Recrudescence. The revival of material or behavior that had previously been stabilized, settled, or diminished. In a narrower sense it can also be defined as a relapse or a recurrence with higher severity than before the remission. SK/YY. (Rated for Self harm triggering content and bloody content)


**Recrudescence**

He got the call at a little past midnight. He woke up startled. His phone, placed on the mattress right next to his face from where it had fallen from his hand where he had been reading before he slept, jolted him awake with its vibrations. Usually he set it to a do-not-disturb mode. Only specific numbers were placed on the phone's exception list and those people knew his sleeping habits and they don't usually call except in emergencies.

Heart thudding, he had answered in low tones, heavy with sleep and worry. The voice on the other end was hushed as well. The urgency in it was not dimmed by its quietness at all and he felt his heart sinking as he listened for a long while to the panicking tone of the younger man on the other end of the line, explaining the reason behind his call, and the situation. And yes, it was an emergency that had him wide awake within moments, sitting upright in bed.

"I wasn't even looking for anything…I found it in the trash by mistake…"

"Calm down…" he whispered back, already getting out of bed and heading to his closet, fishing out a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. "I'm coming over."

"I don't know what to do…what if he's…" there was a pause loaded with tension, then "… _you know,_ right now?"

He sighed, "Just don't do anything right now. Don't confront him or anything, I don't want him to get defensive when I get there. Hang up now. I'm on my way."

He hung up, already halfway through slipping his jeans on. He placed the phone on the bed for a few moments in which he slipped the sweatshirt over his head. He silently descended the stairs, pausing by the door to grab his keychain and slip his shoes on. He opened the door and stepped out into the very cold winter night, shivering ever-so-slightly and pulling his hood up to cover his hair when he felt the extreme difference in temperature between the house and the empty street.

He headed for the car, slipped inside it and brought its engine to a start, cringing at the purr that was relatively quiet, but to him, was just too loud and foreign. He hated driving and usually someone else did it for him, but he knew how to do it and now was just an emergency so he was going to just suck it up and do it.

The streets were empty at this hour. The drive that usually took fifteen minutes during Domino's traffic which was getting heavier every day, took only ten. Despite that, the distance to his lover's house seemed to stretch on forever. He parked the car in front of the house, getting out and closing the door behind him.

He knocked softly on the door. Within moments, it was opened and worried eyes from an extremely pale face appeared from behind it.

"Where is he?" he asked, toeing off his sneakers.

"Upstairs. In his bathroom…" they were still talking in low voices. The younger man's voice dropped even lower, horror enveloping every word as he asked, "Do you think he's…"

He stopped him. "Let me just talk to him."

"I don't know what happened… he was fine. He's been fine for _years_ ," the younger man told him. He sounded so desperate, frantic. His eyes were wild; dark tousled hair falling into them, casting them into shadow and accentuating the paleness of his usually alabaster skin that was obviously a family trait.

He didn't know what to say. He didn't understand. He couldn't possibly understand.

It had been his lover's most painful confession to make, made in the most casual of manners. Of course, it took him many, many years of self-discipline and control to let it pass without the upheaval that would have been quite an appropriate magnitude of response to the revelation made, but would have made his proud former-rival cave in on himself and erect walls that would have been impossible to break down ever again. He had accepted the small admission with neutral expressions, letting it pass by like a small breeze, not the storm it should have been.

It explained so much in one single statement. It explained the lines. Whiter lines on white skin. Irregular yet too uniform. Innocently ashen yet too suspicious. It explained the aloofness, the inapproachability. It explained that the epitome of success for his lover had never been enough; the perfectionism, how hard he was on himself. It explained how he coped with so much and came out of it all alive and seemingly well. But he knew better. He wasn't well and never will be and he could understand that, really.

He just didn't know how deliberately doing what his lover did to himself could have helped him pull through.

"Let me talk to him…" he repeated, heart thudding sluggishly in his ears.

Quietly, he took the stairs two at a time, tracing a familiar path to the room that was witness to other, less serious events. He was trying to calm himself, keep a clear head and take this on like any other battle he had entered. The only difference was that this seemed to be much more important than anything else.

He opened the door to the room, walking quietly on the soft carpet to head for the closed door of the bathroom. He stood there for a few seconds, thoughts racing through his head, his fear and worry making him almost turn around to try and think of something to prepare for the coming confrontation. But he knew there was nothing for it and he had no choice but to stand his ground and just deal with this.

He knocked.

He was not going to even try to just storm into the bathroom without being given explicit permission to do so. Forcing things was the absolute wrong way to deal with all things that concerned his lover. He stood waiting in the complete silence of the house. His worry was rising by the millisecond and his mind was drawing the worst possible scenarios.

He swallowed and knocked again, harder.

There was silence for a few more seconds, in which he could literally feel himself turning grey. Then, he heard a sound from inside. It was the soft sound of a limb moving through water. His heart calmed just a tiny bit and he decided to finally call out.

"Seto…?"

In the absolute stillness surrounding the room, his voice seemed to echo in a quite cheesy way in his ears. He leaned on the door's frame, letting only one of his legs bear his weight as he stood surveying the room.

It was neat and tidy, as was everything that belonged to his lover. The bed was made, nothing placed on the nightstand, the walk-in closet closed trimly. The whole room looked unused in such an eerie way. How was this the first time he noticed this? How did he let things get this bad with his lover without noticing? Where had he been?

 _Stop!_ He reprimanded himself in his mind, straightening and jolting himself back to reality. This wasn't about him. Thoroughly and completely berating himself for his shortcomings would have to come later.

He knocked again. "Seto…please answer me…" There was another sound coming from the bathroom, another slosh was heard. "Baby, please say something. I wanna come in… can I?"

Another splash of water came from inside, louder this time. He braced himself for the answer he knew was coming.

"No, Yami… leave please, I want to be alone now. Why are you here anyway?!"

His heart rate slowed considerably now. Seto sounded almost normal. Colder than usual, but coherent, his voice loud, strong and lost none of its usual baritone. But a heaviness settled within him as his mind raced over what exactly to say next. He wanted to ask if he was alright, but knew it was a stupid question, even if he genuinely wanted to know if Seto was physically in a good condition. Asking him to stop what he was doing was obviously not the right thing to say. After six years, relapsing back into old habits meant that no amount of 'please stop and do not do this' was ever going to work. No, asking Seto to stop was not the right way to proceed either.

"I am waiting outside the door," he said impulsively. He did not answer Seto's question about what he was doing here at this time of the night. He always depended on gut feelings and going with what felt right and he was not going to change that soon. "I will not ask you any questions. I will not tell you talk to me. I will not do anything except wait for you to let me in so I can check if you're okay. Take your time…"

And he did exactly that. He turned, sitting down on the ground, leaning his back against the door and waited.

He did not understand. He will not ask Seto to stop if he did not understand. They had been together for over a year now. They were steady, to the complete surprise of the people who knew them, since they were at each other's throats most of the time. Sure, they still had intense duels every now and again, but it didn't possess Seto to try and defeat him as much as it did before.

They made each other happy.

He had finally found someone to easily confess his fear of darkness to. The ages he spent in complete shadows had left their mark on him. He would go to Seto for information on this modern world he found himself in and was trying hard to adjust to. The young CEO was patient when he got frustrated; when his failure to grasp what was, to other people, very simple concepts made him feel stupid and that his decision to stay had been the worst, despite his initial curiosity to have a life better than the one he barely lived before.

He thought he was providing similar support to Seto. He thought that the little confessions were the brunet's way of trusting him. Admitting worries about Mokuba… admitting how difficult things _really_ were for him in his early teenage years. The small remarks, the self-deprecating chastisements to himself in front of him… nothing like a full-blown, bare-the-soul conversation, but the little things. Apparently, he hadn't been enough. Apparently, those little things were not a good enough vent for Seto… after all, he never did settle for little things.

He sighed. He wanted to say he was sorry so badly. He wanted to beg for forgiveness for his inattentiveness. Surely, there must have been something he could have done to prevent this.

Or maybe he was the reason behind this?

His breath quickened and he felt his heart starting to thump heavily behind his ribcage. He knew it's been six years since Seto felt awful enough to do this. What changed so suddenly? He was the only new addition to the brunet's life. Nothing else changed.

He bit his lip hard. He had to. Otherwise, he would have asked questions out loud. And that was not what Seto needed right now. He breathed slowly through his nose, trying to calm down and clear his mind. He needed a clear mind right now so that when Seto was ready, he would not ruin this more than he obviously did.

He didn't know how long he sat there fighting the panic, the self-loathing, the feelings of inadequacy that stormed within him. But it must have been too long because his eyes burned in exhaustion and his ribs ached under the effort of trying not to hyperventilate. First his left foot fell asleep and he shifted position slightly, then his right foot also fell asleep. Three times, this cycle repeated until, finally, Seto acknowledged him.

"Yami…?"

It was a soft call. Tentative, as if Seto wasn't sure if he really was going to wait that long.

Immediately, he jumped up as if stung, "Yes, I'm here…" he called from where he stood poised with his hand hovering over the bathroom's door's handle, waiting for the second Seto would give him permission to enter. He wasn't just waiting… he was hoping, praying to gods he knew didn't exist but not knowing what else to do.

"You're…still there?"

Yami closed his eyes in pain. The hesitancy; disbelief, that marred Seto's voice made his heart ache. Just how did things get to this?

"Yes, Baby… I'm here," he softly answered back, repeating his earlier statement.

"Why are you here?" the brunet repeated the question which he hadn't answered before.

"Mokuba called me… he told me he found what you threw in the trash earlier…" he explained in quiet tones. Silence met him from inside the bathroom. He could just hear Seto calling himself stupid in his mind for throwing the remains of the disassembled razor in the kitchen's trash. He didn't want the cycle of silence to start over again and he needed to see his lover right now. "Can I _please_ come in?" he insisted.

The stillness suffocated him. It was almost unbearable, as if someone was holding a pillow to his face, cutting off his air supply. Seconds ticked by as if they were hours. Then…

"Err… yes…"

He allowed himself just a moment to take a breath and mentally prepare himself for what lay behind the door. He cleared his mind of all thoughts and focused only on what was best for Seto and nothing else. Then, he turned the knob and pushed the door open, getting inside the bathroom and closing it behind him. Then, he turned to face the bathtub.

He was always known for his nerves of steel. Not many people could face what he faced in two lifetimes and call themselves faint of heart. Facing Pegasus, Malik… losing Yugi… standing alone in front of Zorc's terrifying form, twice. Emerging victorious from every single trial of those meant that his heart was as steady as they come.

It was the only thing that narrowed his reaction to the sight that met him to a whole new burning sensation in the corners of his eyes. He blinked, forcing the extra wetness to get redistributed in his eyes without spilling over the rims, and strode towards the bathtub in which Seto was sitting.

The tiles were all wet. Yami knew what that meant. It meant that the water that Seto was now sitting in had been hot but now cooled down and the vapors condensed all over the place, turning the warmth into a bone-chilling coldness. He was grateful for the artful-looking rubber mat on the floor; he didn't want to fall. Also, it formed a somewhat soft cushioning for his knees as he sat on them next to the bathtub and tilted his head sideways to stare into the blue eyes that were carrying a foreign expression in them that he had never seen before. He settled his legs to one side, placing his arm on the edge of the tub so he was sitting opposite his lover.

Silence dominated, except for the occasional drip of a stray drop of water falling.

From the faucet…dripping from the end of a smooth strand of beautiful brown hair… dark-red drops from the tips of long, slender fingers.

The tub was full. But the water wasn't exactly clear. It was tinted pink; horribly prominent against the white of the tub.

His heart was racing a million miles a second… the tub was huge. It could take a large amount of water. For the water to turn this tint of pink—not pale yet not exactly outright red, but dark enough—it meant that the extra paleness of Seto's skin was somewhat alarming.

He couldn't help himself.

His hand rose up and reached for Seto's hanging from the side of the tub. He was careful. First he held onto the familiar fingers, gently squeezing them for reassurance. He kept his eyes fixed on Seto's face. there was a panic flickering on the handsome features and he felt his heart tightening at the sight. He closed his eyes and bowed his head down, holding their hands to his forehead for a few moments, as if Seto's hand was a sacred religious relic which he was worshipping. He then raised his head again.

"It's okay," he mumbled. It was a lie; nothing about this was okay or ever will be. But it was the only thing Seto needed to hear right now to let him in. "Let me," he asked, waiting for the uncertainty to fade from the azure eyes to turn his attention to the hand he was holding. He turned it around, pulling on it very gently. He was grateful that Seto complied, not pulling back and allowing him to fully examine the situation.

He swallowed and looked up around him for a moment. He spotted the cabinet in the corner of the bathroom and got up to open it, retrieve a couple of dark towels then return to his place on the floor next to the tub. He unfolded one of them, placing it on the entire length of the familiar forearm.

At least it looked somewhat familiar. It was the same size he knew… the same, lightly muscled structure that looked absolutely gorgeous in shirts and blazers… it was the same arm that held Seto's weight up beside his head on the bed or on the wall as they had sex. But it was also so different. The white lines were no longer visible under new lines. Only those weren't white. Those were dark crimson. They weren't neat and uniform. They were arranged neatly yes. Again, like everything Seto did. Neat, uniform; a certain pattern that Yami couldn't wrap his head around even though it was so simple. No, the lack of uniformity came from the droplets of dark crimson that hung on the edge of each line. Some of the drops were small, almost little dots, others were too large to stay on the ledge, falling to slide down, pooling into the line after it.

He forced himself not to stare too long, knowing it would give off the idea he was judging. He wasn't. really, he was just too mesmerized by the sight of so much blood on the skin of someone he loved so much. He breathed evenly through his nose, blinking slowly to clear his eyes of the burn that started up once more. He focused on pressing the dark towel to the whole length of Seto's arm, applying pressure to the whole arm systematically, starting from bottom to top. Then, he placed the edge of the towel on most of the wounds, starting to wrap it around them.

He was completely focused on the limb within his hands. but when he was done and was lifting his eyes to shift them to the other side of his boyfriend's body, he noticed that the other hand was resting on a pale thigh, holding a thin razor to make similar lines like the ones he just covered on it.

He reached over, placing his own hand flat on the white skin gradually getting marred by the sharp edge of the razor, trying to form a barrier between them. "Please…" he whispered. Seto paused, the razor resting on the skin of the top of Yami's hand.

"You must hate me now."

It came out low. Yami almost missed it but it was just so silent around them. It was filled with uncertainty, shame and self-loathing that Yami heard before on rare occasions in the brunet's voice, but never this loudly and never this open before.

"I really don't," he reassured, slowly moving his hand to turn it up, wrapping around Seto's fingers again, only this time to carefully detangle the sharp object from his hand. He placed it on the far edge of the tub and while he was there, he pulled the plug.

A part of him was grateful for the sound of the water draining. It distracted him just slightly as dabbed at the freshly-bleeding cuts on the white skin he sometimes spent hours and hours worshipping in bed. He couldn't believe how horrid the contrast between its color and the blood dripping from its open edges was.

"Are you lying…just like saying this is okay?"

He looked up. Seto's eyes were shining bright. Yami was sure his own crimson eyes were shining with the same sheen and he was not afraid to show that. He knew it was the only way Seto was going to let him do anything to help. To show him that he too was vulnerable and showing it.

"No… I really do not hate you…" he firmly said. he took hold of Seto's hand, raising it and placing it on the towel on his thigh. "Press on this," he instructed. He reached for the showerhead, flicking the water on and testing its temperature with his now free hand.

He waited for the water to drain, staring at the tiny whirling structure at the end of the tub, pulling the blood-stained water into it. He took a few more seconds of silent staring, then turned his attention back to Seto, only to tut gently when he found that he removed the towel and was staring, mesmerized at the half-bleeding, half-congealing mess on his skin.

"Press on it, Seto, c'mon," he urged, reaching for his hand once more. Seto blinked and obeyed automatically.

The water in the tub was almost all gone now. Yami brought the showerhead near, starting to run the warm water over Seto's shoulders first, then reached for the towel wrapped around his forearm to unwrap it and started washing the drying redness over there. He was gently rubbing the raised cuts there, trying to thoroughly clean them with as little pain as possible.

"Don't…" Seto muttered under his breath, trying to jolt his arm away. Yami paused, not forcing anything and patiently waiting. He kept his hand where it was but looked up to stare into the blue eyes, understanding dawning on him when he saw the revulsion clear on Seto's face. "Don't touch them…"

"It's okay…" he repeated. "It's okay, Seto…let me, please."

Gentle pressure and he slowly coaxed him to extend his arm again. He continued his previous work until the dark red disappeared, replaced by pale pink and an occasional smudge of red that he decided to deal with better later on. With an almost religious resolve, he did the same for the brunet's thigh then ran the showerhead over the rest of the slender body propped in the tub, washing away the metallic, blood tinted water until all the liquid running down along the walls of the tub and down the drain was clear.

"C'mon, love… get up. Let's get you to bed," he urged, placing a hand in the crook of Seto's arm. He was grateful for the compliance and that the taller young man was working with him, pulling himself up. He quietly urged him to sit on the edge of the tub for a few moments, not knowing if the amount of blood he lost was making him dizzy or not but not willing to take any risks. He placed the largest towel around Seto's shoulders, half-sprinting to the cupboard to get another one for his hair.

Within five minutes, he had dried him and was now gently massaging his head softly with the new towel, trying to absorb all the extra moisture. When they were done, he once again pulled at Seto's arm, helping him out of the tub completely and onto the rubber mat of the bathroom, which they walked out of and into the cool bedroom.

Yami left him on the side of the bed, heading for the windows to close them, then opened the door to the closet, grabbing a pair of baggy sweatpants and a warm sweatshirt. He deposited them on the bed beside the still form, then left the room to rush downstairs to where he knew the first aid box was kept, in one of the kitchen cabinets.

He met Mokuba on the way back. The kid had been sitting in the living room and stood waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. He was still white with worry, now his lips also the same frightening color as he saw what Yami was holding in his hands.

"He's okay," Yami immediately rushed out, knowing that, where Seto's welfare was concerned, Mokuba always jumped to the worst possible scenarios. Understandable, really. The younger man's eyes flickered over to the first-aid kit and Yami repeated, "He's okay. I will stay with him tonight. Calm down and we will talk later."

Mokuba nodded, knowing that it would be just immature if he insisted on seeing Seto right now. Yami was grateful for his understanding, once again taking the steps two at a time to reach the bedroom.

Seto was still sitting where he left him but was rubbing his head with the towel, drying most of the moisture on it. he looked too lost and Yami tried to push away the pang he felt at the completely alien expression. He set the first aid kit on the floor in front of the bed and knelt in front of his lover.

"It's okay, Yami…leave it…" Seto said, his voice finally rising above the broken little whispers he spoke with in the bathroom.

Yami pursed his lips for a moment, then reached for his mangled arm. "Let me do this. Please," he said. He was not above pleading, not now; not where this matter was concerned. Something hard and heavy was lodged in his throat as he added, "Maybe it won't leave marks like the ones before."

Seto laughed and he flinched at the sound.

The bitterness lingered in the smile that was left persistent on the drawn features. "They will leave a mark, Yami…"

"Maybe they will," he agreed. He squeezed the hand he was now holding. "But maybe not as bad as before…"

"It doesn't matter," Seto insisted, trying to pull his hand away. "They'll heal like the others… and maybe in another couple of years they will be reopened again. It doesn't matter."

At that, Yami held onto the brunet's hand stubbornly. It was time to be relentless now.

"I will be there to wrap bandages around those as well…" he quietly said. Seto froze in his hold. Uncertainty flashed in his blue eyes and across his pale face once more and Yami held on tighter. "I will be there, Seto."

His lover had no answer to that. The blue eyes were shining brighter and Yami looked away from them, saving Seto the trouble of dealing with the discomfort of showing weakness in the form of tears spilling from his eyes accidentally. He turned his attention to the arm that was spread before him, then opened the first aid box to grab a packet of the tiniest dressing in there. There was one cut that was still bleeding and he placed the square-shaped gauze-wrapped cotton on it, firmly pressing on it.

He stayed silent, his gaze fixed on the white piece of cloth until he was sure that the blood didn't soak through to the other side. He gently raised the dressing, pausing slightly to check to see if the bleeding stopped, and placed it on the floor beside him when he confirmed that, indeed, the flow of blood slowed, almost stopping completely. He reached for the antibiotic cream resting in the corner of the box and twisted the cap open, squeezing a small bit onto his fingers and starting to massage it onto the raw skin.

A shiver was running down his spine at the frankly horrifying feel of ragged, open skin beneath his fingertips. He forced himself to continue, using the slight heat of the marred skin as motivation to continue applying the antibiotic. He allowed himself to stop only when each and every cut was covered liberally with the cream. He wiped his hand on the towel resting halfway on the bed, halfway on Seto's lap. He then reached for the roll of gauze, happy that it was the best, softest kind made of cotton, not the harsh linen type that itched.

He started at the palm, wrapping it twice with the gauze, then skipped the thumb, leaving it free and continued wrapping the soft cotton around the wrist and worked his way up until he reached the area just below Seto's elbow, where the myriad of cuts ended. He then split the end of the roll of gauze, tying the two halves together gently, neatly.

He then picked up another packet of dressing, opening it and pressing it to the bleeding cuts on Seto's thigh, then started repeating the process of applying the antibiotic cream then wrapping gauze over the cuts and tying it off neatly.

He picked up the dressing pads and empty wrappers and got up. He threw them in the trash basket in the bathroom, then returned to the room. He held the towel resting on Seto's neck, unfolding it and placing it on his lover's brown-haired head, gently massaging it to make sure for himself that he was all dried up.

"C'mon… let's get you dressed," he said, reaching for the sweatpants. Seto silently took them from him, starting to slip into them quietly, with minimal motions, too automatic for Yami's liking. He didn't comment, waiting until the strings of the pants were tied to hold the sweatshirt up.

"I can dress myself," Seto grumbled and Yami held back a sad little smile.

Instead, he gave the warm cloth to him. "Alright… go ahead. I'll be right back."

He left the room, descending the stairs again to head for the kitchen, where he opened the refrigerator where he grabbed the tub of orange juice, pouring some into a small glass, then replacing it and heading back up the stairs. He deposited the glass on the bedside table, rummaged for a moment in the first aid box until he found a bottle of paracetamol tablets. He took out two, replaced the bottle back then sat on the edge of the bed.

Seto had already climbed in and pulled the covers over him. He silently took the pills from him, swallowing them down with the juice without a single word uttered.

The silence stretched for a while longer, in which both of them didn't move. Then, Seto spoke…

"Are you staying?"

Yami stared at him with a very tiny, a very tight little smile. "If you want me to."

"Stay."

"Alright…" He nodded at the single word, softly whispered, blue eyes not meeting his own crimson ones. "Alright," he repeated, getting up. "Let me just change. My clothes are wet…"

Seto nodded silently and Yami headed once more headed for the closet. He had a whole cupboard to himself there. He grabbed a change of clothes, quickly slipping out of his damp clothes and into the dry ones. Within just two minutes, he was walking back into the room and heading to the bed.

Seto had slid down, lying sideways in the bed. He had his back bent slightly, knees pulled nearer to his upper body and his arms wrapped around his midsection. His eyes were fixed on the closed window.

Yami sat down once again beside him, settling in the little curve his lover made with his body and he bent down slightly, waiting patiently until the blue eyes fixed on him. He raised a hand, running his fingers through the damp brown locks and softly massaging his lover's scalp soothingly. "Can you shift in a little bit?"

Automatically, the brunet moved back in bed, freeing up a spot for him.

He climbed into the bed, pulling the covers over them both. He leaned his shoulder against the pillow, stretching his arm to place it underneath Seto's neck, then propping his head against the headboard, while his other arm wrapped carefully around Seto's broad shoulders. He leaned down, placing a chaste kiss on top of the brown hair.

There was absolute silence enveloping them for a couple of minutes. Seto's body started relaxing after it was taut and stiff in his arms. He let his head fall forward, resting it on Yami's shoulder.

"Baby…you okay?" Yami gave into the temptation to ask the stupid question. He couldn't help himself.

Silence stretched a bit longer in which Seto remained completely indifferent to the question; Yami thought he was going to ignore him completely. But then, he realized what was going on when he felt a wet spot spreading on the soft fabric of the long-sleeved cotton t-shirt he was wearing. The quiet breathing sounds the brunet was making also went all wrong; too loud, too erratic and Yami knew that Seto was finally, finally truly breaking down tonight.

The arm wrapped around Seto's shoulders tightened around them and the arm beneath his neck curled slightly, both actions trying to bring the brunet closer. He made a very quiet, shushing sound. "It's okay… It's okay," he said. Along with other stupid things; he wasn't sure what they were, he was only sure that they were very stupid and on any other occasion, Seto would have most probably pointed out how dumb they are. He wasn't even sure if it was the right thing to do, because Seto seemed to get worse at hearing his soft little mutterings, instead of better.

"Why are you staying… why aren't you leaving…?" the small, hushed question came from between gasps for breath. Yami barely heard it.

He once again placed a chaste little kiss, this time on the side of Seto's forehead. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be…"

There was total quiet after that except for the somewhat noisy breaths Seto was taking. They stayed like that for a very long while, until finally, finally, Seto's breathing returned to its normal, quiet rhythm and the wetness spreading on Yami's clothes started drying. The blackness that interspersed the blinds on the window was lightening up, indicating that it was dawn already.

"It's been six years… six years," Seto spoke, voice still too quiet. Yami was almost startled, but managed to control himself at the sudden admission. "Now I'm back to square one…"

He sounded so self-loathing, Yami couldn't stand it.

He pulled back a little bit so he could properly stare into the wretched features; skin blotched with tears, lashes clumped together with wetness and eyes too red and too weary.

"You'll try again," he decidedly reassured. Seto stared up at him in silence. His eyes spoke of how tired he was. As if Yami was asking him to do something physically impossible. "You'll try again, love, and it will all be alright in the end."

Seto tried looking away, but Yami stopped him, placing a hand on the side of his face, angling it upwards slightly so he can stare into the dejected blue eyes that carried an expression Yami knew too well. Seto was now mentally counting the ways in which he was going to fail.

"Whether you succeed or fail… I am here," he reassured.

Seto closed his eyes. Yami let him rest his head once more on his shoulder, praying that he was going to sleep after what turned out to be a very exhausting night. His hand gently stroked the soft brown locks, trying to lull their owner to sleep with the reassuring touch.

"Sleep now… I'll be here when you wake up."


End file.
